


The Confession

by irrevocably-johnlocked (AurielleDawn)



Series: First Times [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Set Post-Season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AurielleDawn/pseuds/irrevocably-johnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's really afraid he doesn't want to hear what Sherlock's about to tell him.</p><p>***</p><p>When he finally turns towards me, his eyes are serious.  He takes a few steps, stopping two feet away.  “John,” he says, quietly.  I meet his eyes and nod, straightening my back, ready for whatever’s coming.  He searches my face for a moment.  “I need you to know that what I’m about to tell you is true.”  I furrow my brow, confused.  That’s definitely not what I was expecting.  He looks away briefly and takes a deep breath, then looks back at me.  “I would not have told you in this way, but I will not have you believing it’s a lie.  Her price is the truth, and the truth is what I’m giving you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Confession

**Author's Note:**

> Note that I'm changing my pseud on my Johnlock fic so tumblr followers can find me.

She’s sitting on a table, one leg crossed over the other, leaning back on one hand. In the other is her phone. A new one, of course. The old one is still in Sherlock’s drawer with the rest of his collection. She’s smirking at him like she’s got his number, dangling the phone in her hand, a visual representation of the information we need that she won’t give us. 

“Aren’t you the least bit glad to see me?” She asks, giving him her coyest smile. He’s standing facing her, hands in his coat pockets, back straight. 

“It’s really always _so_ good to catch up with you, Irene,” he says, coolly with a cutting edge. “But we really do need that information with some urgency.” He’s always so hyper alert around her, and it hits me right in the gut. I can tell now when he’s struggling to remain calm, and that’s got to mean something. I’m a married man. I shouldn’t care. But god help me, I do. 

She glances at me where I stand, a dozen feet away. Always outside looking in with these two. Then she looks back at Sherlock quizzically, tilting her head, a considering smile moving across her lips. “Something’s changed,” she says, as though she’s just discovered the prize in the cereal box. “Something….” She taps her lips with a finger, effectively flashing the phone again. “Is definitely different…” 

Sherlock’s back stiffens further and his jaw clenches. “I’m afraid we really don’t have time for games, Irene. What is it you want in exchange for the information?”

She looks him up and down for a moment, then stands, reaching out to run a finger along his cheek. I can see him struggling to keep his breathing even. _Jesus, is he that into her? That just that little touch can make him lose control?_ I feel my own jaw clench, as my hands ball into fists. _Shouldn’t care, shouldn’t care. Just get the information and go._

She narrows her eyes, noting his reaction, searching his face. She begins to walk around him, but he moves to keep his body between her and me, staring her down. She laughs at this, a low-pitched, bubbling laugh, the kind that would clench low in your gut if you weren’t wishing to see her brains splattered against the wall. “Oh, this is too much.” She moves back to the table, depositing herself daintily on the edge and crossing her legs again, swinging them below her, eyes still on his face. “I could never get the barest reaction out of you, and look at you now.” She looks over to study me for a moment, considering. “Does John know?” _Jesus, do I know what? Do I know that Sherlock wants you? It seems fairly obvious._ I just glare at her, and she seems to find this amusing. 

She looks back at Sherlock, smiling again. “He doesn’t, does he? How perfect.”

He moves into her then, right up into her face, grabbing her wrist. He stares her down, his voice deadly quiet. “What do you want, Irene? I _really_ don’t have time for your games today.” 

She looks pointedly at his hand where it’s holding her wrist, and he releases her, putting his hands back in his pockets and turning away to pace a bit. She taps her bottom lip again. “There are so many things I could demand that would be far more practical…” And here she bites her lip, as he turns around to face her. “But I’m really such a romantic.” His back is to me, but I can his shoulders move with the increase in his breathing. Whatever she’s doing, it’s breaking through his calm, and I wish desperately that I could just shoot her someplace painful and make her tell him. 

“I’ll tell you what, darling,” she says finally, with a pleased little smile. “I’ll give you the information you need…if you tell Doctor Watson the truth.” I blanch a bit at this. What the hell is she talking about? 

But Sherlock knows. He turns away from her, glancing briefly at me, face closed down, jaw set. A deep sense of dread settles into my stomach. Whatever she wants him to tell me, it’s bad. Possibilities start going through my head. _Things he did while he away. Other people he’s killed? That the two of them fucked like bunnies the last time he saw her?_ I feel a little nauseated at that last one. I have a feeling that whatever it is, I really don’t want to know.

He paces a few steps and then turns back, looming over her. “We are not trained monkeys to dance for your amusement,” he hisses. 

She holds her ground, straightening her back as she looks up at him. “That’s my price. Take it or leave it.” When he continues to glare at her, she looks at him quizzically again and asks, “Will you really allow people to die over this?” 

I break in at this, angry, tired of the games. “Sherlock, whatever it is she wants you to tell me, just do it! Really! You’re like a couple of children fighting over a toy.” 

He doesn’t move away from her, but he turns his head, closing his eyes as he considers his options. When he looks back at her, he’s calmer. “I have your word that if I do as you ask, you will give me the information we need?” 

She holds up her hand in a two-fingered solute. “Scout’s honor.” He stares at her briefly, then moves away, pacing again, not looking at me. The dread in my gut spreads until I can barely breathe around it, but I stand my ground, waiting for the axe to fall. 

When he finally turns towards me, his eyes are serious. He takes a few steps, stopping two feet away. “John,” he says, quietly. I meet his eyes and nod, straightening my back, ready for whatever’s coming. He searches my face for a moment. “I need you to know that what I’m about to tell you is true.” I furrow my brow, confused. That’s definitely not what I was expecting. He looks away briefly and takes a deep breath, then looks back at me. “I would not have told you in this way, but I will not have you believing it’s a lie. Her price is the truth, and the truth is what I’m giving you.” 

He seems to be waiting for a response, so I nod and say, “Alright.” My voice is calm, steady. Because I’m terrified. I make a _Go ahead_ motion, and he turns away a bit, hands in his pockets, staring off into space. Considering his words. _This is not going to be good._

When he looks back, he seems resolved. He steps into me, until we’re close enough to touch, staring down into my face. I meet his gaze and give him the best I can. I give him my trust. 

“John Watson,” he begins slowly, quietly, eyes dark and intense. “I have said before that you are the bravest and kindest and wisest human being that I have ever known, and I have never uttered truer words. You are also the very best and most loyal of friends, and the only person in this world with whom I can be myself. I cannot begin to tell you what that means to me.” 

I swallow and clench my jaw, eyes stinging, unbalanced, because I have no idea where this is going. He searches my face for a moment, and I nod for him, accepting what he’s said, clearing my throat a little. He gives me the barest of smiles, and his voice softens. “And I don’t deserve you. I never have. But I am grateful for you every moment of every day.” 

He shifts forward just the barest amount, just a breath away now, and I tilt my head back to hold his gaze, because I can’t look away. “So please, John,” his voice barely above a whisper. “Please believe me when I tell you that I love you. That I have been in love with you…always.” I have literally stop breathing, blood pounding in my ears. He shakes his head helplessly. “And I was too blind and too foolish to realize it until it was too late. And I am so deeply, deeply sorry for that.” 

I’m fighting vertigo, as I struggle to breathe, staring at him, trying to decide if it’s real. It can’t be. It can’t. I start shaking my head, fighting against the lump in my throat, trying to speak, but the words won’t come out. He sees the denial in my face, and his expression becomes unbearably sad. “The truth, John,” he whispers. “Her price was the truth.” And then he turns and walks away from me.

I barely register their voices, his cold, hers amused. I feel numb. Shocky. I’m realizing that I need to snap out of it when I’m pulled back by his voice. “John.” I look up to see him giving me a guarded look, his phone in his hand, texting Mycroft the information he’s received. He motions toward the door with his head and watches long enough to see that I’m following. And of course I am. Where else would I go? 

Irene’s voice follows me into the hallway. “Goodbye, Doctor Watson.” And I don’t even have the energy to be angry. He’s waiting for me, a few feet further on. He looks at my face and then turns to walk beside me, picking up the pace. I clear my throat a couple of times before I can speak. “Do we have a destination, then?”

“Yes,” he says, quietly. “I’ve already alerted Mycroft. We’re ten minutes away by cab.” 

“Right.” I say, sounding almost normal. Then we move in silence, quickly exiting the building and heading to the street, where Sherlock hails a cab. We climb inside, and he gives them the directions, tells them to be quick about it. I’m staring out the side window as the cab leaves the curb, and I can feel him looking at me. “It wasn’t true, was it?” My voice is quiet, drained of emotion. “Just a game you two were playing.” I glance at him, and he stares at me for a moment before turning to the street. 

The silence stretches and I think he’s not going to answer. When his voice comes, it’s weary. “I know it often seems as though I have no feelings. I’ve tried to convince us both of it many times.” Here he turns to look at me, and there’s something in his gaze that makes my chest hurt. “But whatever you think of me, John, whatever wrongs I have done you or games I have played, I would not lie about this. Not to you. Not for all of England.” He looks at me a moment longer, before turning back to the window. I stare blankly ahead, trying to figure out what I feel and failing miserably. 

We’re getting close to our destination when he turns back to me, and this time he puts a hand on my knee, something he’s never done before. I stare at it and then up at him, and he says, “John, I need you with me right now. I can’t face what’s coming next without you. Please.” And I take a deep breath and nod at him gruffly, straightening in my seat. I swallow and cough a little and say, “Of course.” I meet his eyes and say it again. “Of course, Sherlock. I’m here. I’m in the game.” He gives me the barest smile and nods, squeezing my knee slightly before removing his hand. We sit in silence, and I pull myself together. I’ve been to war. I know how to compartmentalize. I stretch the muscles in my neck and shoulders, releasing the tension. By the time the cab stops, I’ve pushed it down and away. We hit the street at a sharp clip, heading to the next showdown.


End file.
